Page 27 of Artifice
How was that possible? Unless maybe he didn’t have an accurate list. Why would administrators make up having a student named Peyton?
The next message was about Simon.
Now that she’d had a chance to talk to the man one-on-one, she was even more curious about him.
But her gaze narrowed as she read the words there.
On paper, Simon Long seemed legit. But Tevin had done a deeper dive into his background, and the consulting firm he worked for raised some red flags.
For starters, the firm had only been around for six months. That wasn’t much time to get established. Even though all their reviews were glowing, they didn’t all ring true. They all sounded too generic and stiff.
Tevin had even tried to contact one of the reviewers, but he’d been unable to confirm the review was legit.
Why would Simon make up a company and post fake reviews?
What if he had other reasons for being here? And what if his intentions were less than honorable?
In fact, he might have something to do with these missing students if that was the case.
If that was true, Olive needed to get to know him better.
It was the only way she could find out the truth—to find out what he was doing and what he might know.
That meant she needed to shift her mindset.
She liked this assignment less and less all the time.
“Lighthouse Harbor has given me the structure I need to succeed,” said Marissa, a freckled redhead who kept her handsfolded precisely in her lap. The sixteen-year-old’s posture was perfect, her uniform immaculate. “The dedicated staff provides both boundaries and opportunities for growth.”
Olive nodded encouragingly, jotting notes in the notebook she’d brought with her. “And what’s your favorite part of the program?”
“The therapeutic approach is evidence-based and respects our individuality,” Marissa replied without hesitation.
The phrase sounded rehearsed, lifted directly from the brochure Olive had been given during her tour.
“Every student has a personalized development plan that addresses our unique challenges and builds on our strengths.”
It was the third time Olive had heard that exact phrasing in as many interviews.
“What about something more specific?” Olive pressed gently. “Maybe a particular activity or class you enjoy?”
A flicker of uncertainty crossed Marissa’s face. She glanced toward the partially open door where Director Ingraham hovered just within earshot.
“I . . . I find the group therapy sessions particularly beneficial,” she finally said, voice dropping back into its rehearsed cadence. “They help us develop crucial interpersonal skills in a supportive environment.”
“I see.” Olive made another note. “And how long have you been here, Marissa?”
“Seven months. The average stay is between six and twelve months, with some students benefiting from extended support of up to two years.”
Another line from the brochure.
This was getting her nowhere.
What kind of place was this? It seemed as if these kids’ personalities had been suppressed, or even worse—disciplined right out of them.
Just how far was the school willing to take that discipline?
Olive knew one thing: She was willing to take things as far as necessary to ensure no one else went missing from this place.
